the road takes us. we run as far as we can. trembling and lost. eyes shut. bridges burning. the past sprinting beside us. as we fail to keep up
it’s only beautiful when we let it be. it’s only ugly when we insist. perception devours everything we are. until only the skeleton remains.
the hierarchy of skin evolving. as we suffocate on time. the sweat of the stop signs spoiling the distance. as we find our legs. embracing the gap between then and now.
the void names our voices. weak as they are. broken strings on helium balloons. drifting off into the atmosphere to die. the struggle colors us in. like the hollow outlines we’ve let ourselves become.
it’s an ugly transition. this sober choice. as the miles tell us we’re done. but our journey has other plans.
we’re not alive unless there’s blood or panic. we’re not real unless we’re wounded. the stairs lead up, but the doors are locked.
it’s close until it isn’t. it’s loud until we forget how to hear. we go everywhere. and nowhere. our internal maps frail and inaccurate.
the clouds stall. we wait for the rain to fall. but we’ve been drowning for years.